


hunger bakes the best cakes

by spj



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, More Death, Psychopaths In Love, Violence, idk what im doing, messed up worldviews, serial killer!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spj/pseuds/spj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yongguk's new case takes him and his new partner down roads he wasn't sure he ever wanted to walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been seeing a lot of kinky/hannibal-esque daejae floating around lately and it probably has to do with that set of pictures where they're possessively hanging on to each other--you know what i'm talking about ;) and my friend and i were talking about this and of course i spread piggy wings and flew off on a tangent so here we are~
> 
> there will probably be more mature themes, just by nature of the story, so be warned for that. there's a lot of morally dubious (and just downright wrong) things the boys are going to be doing, too.
> 
> also: this story is TOTALLY UNREALISTIC. so many things are going to be ignored, namely: two very attractive mentally crazy boys falling for each other, stereotypical emotionally unstable boys falling for each other, detective partner romances, why is everyone asian, actual crime scene regulations, actual serial killer investigations, mechanics of hannibal's shit, etc. i just watch a copious amount of criminal minds. 
> 
> deliriously unbeta'd so all the mistakes and stupidity!

It starts with a new Criminal Investigations Head, a transfer, and a handful of missing persons cases. Mr. Balashov had just retired and in his place was Mr. Zheng, an efficient and well-rounded worker with years of experience under his belt—perfect for the job, of course, but it had left Yongguk without a partner, and Academy graduation rates being what they were, they had to transfer another detective from neighboring Placentia to fill the hole.

His name is Himchan Kim, and he looks a little more like a college hipster than a police detective, but what does Yongguk know? Zheng was fond of saying that Yongguk's non-existent dress code was what helped them shut down so many gangs—they always thought they were staring down one of their own until the badges came out.

Himchan, Yongguk discovers, is also a bit of a busybody. It's not like things are ever very slow at the police department, not at Santa Ana, but there are times when one just doesn't want to go over paperwork anymore, and for those times, Himchan keeps a box of cold cases by his desk to browse. Yongguk never says anything. He's not sure if it's against protocol or anything, but he's willing to keep his mouth shut if it means the first week of pointed fashion advice and recommended brands will never make a comeback.

Himchan leans back in his chair and props his foot up on his desk, narrowly missing the pile of paperwork by his computer. “Yah, paperwork is _terrible_. My old eyes aren't good enough for this.”

“Aren't you, like, twenty three?” Yongguk says, amused.

“What are you, some kind of stalker? I'm an academic! All our eyes are like this,” Himchan says, reaching down beside him to grab a handful of cold cases from his box.

Yongguk doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't, turning his attention back to his paperwork. He makes it through eight more files (were screens always that blurry, or was it just him?) before Himchan pipes up again: “You guys are awful! You have so many weird missing persons cases!”

This time Yongguk swivels around to look at Himchan. “Missing persons?” Yongguk and Zheng were part of the criminal investigation department, but they typically handled gang activity, not missing persons. Every now and again it cropped up in the system, of course—sister with a missing brother, missing son—but it never was all that related to what he and Zheng did.

“It's not that many,” Himchan amends. “At least, no more than the usual, but it is, y'know, strange. Here, look.”

Curiosity piqued, Yongguk leans over to take a look at the files Himchan had in hand. Dawns, Ross. Ester, Shawn. Kim, Yoosoon. Carlson, Robert. Different nationalities, spectrum of ages from sixteen to fifty-one, different socio-economic statuses. Yongguk does seem to recall something about how their homicide rate went down, but missing persons rate was going up—probably connected. “I don't understand?” Yongguk offers after a short stretch of silence.

Himchan makes a _tch_ noise. “Look, most missing persons cases are runaways, kids and adults. Other than that, a good chunk are children abducted by relatives or other adults, or teenage girls abducted by rapists and the like. I took a look at your end of year report—the remaining male missing persons are likely victims of unidentified violent crime. These guys, not the case. Look closer.

“Ross Dawns was from the city. Part of a gang, but his parents insisted he was getting cleaned up and studying for his GED. What's odd is the night he went missing, there's footage of him entering a library to study, but no footage of him exiting. The tape doesn't appear to be tampered with. No signs of a struggle.

“Sharon Ester was a high school student. Parents sent her to bed at night, kid's gone in the morning, but the windows were locked and the house undisturbed. Seems like an open-and-closed run-away case, but she had just gotten accepted to Stanford, her dream school. No boyfriend, no drugs, no partying. Kids at school called her a nerd. Probably not suicide either, since she wasn't displaying any signs of depression, and it's hard to hide a body like that. No signs of a struggle.

“Yoosoon Kim was a college student. The night he went missing, he wasn't at a party. He did leave his dorm to pick up his friend from a party, but he was seen arriving safely back at his room, alone, and just vanished the next morning. Again, no signs of a struggle.

“And Robert Carlson, manager of a small business. Business doing well, wife expecting another kid. Didn't come home one night from work, but office lights were on and all his papers and money still there when the police went to check. Once again, no struggle.

“It's kind of a weird pattern, isn't it? Four disappearances in just one year and all with the same type of a locked-room disappearance?”

Yongguk mulls over the information slowly. “It is kind of strange,” he agrees. “What's the year?”  
Himchan checks. “2010, a few years ago.”

“If we work hard,” Yongguk considers, spinning around in his chair, “we can be done with the paperwork in an hour, which will give us a bit of time to check the boxes.”

Yongguk stops spinning to see Himchan pulling his files towards himself, a pair of gold-wire glasses that Yongguk's never seen before in his hand. “Well c'mon, then,” Himchan says. “I'll race you.”

***

Yongguk wins, but Himchan maintains that it's because he finished half his paperwork while Himchan was busy finding the Very Important Lead. Yongguk doesn't correct him, although he's sure Himchan made a few unnecessary coffee breaks in there.

They head down to the storeroom after giving Mr. Zheng a heads up. Mr. Zheng smiles grimly and nods them on. Dark circles paint the undersides of his eyes, and Yongguk can't blame him. They've had their hands busy with a serial killer case since a month ago, and every couple days a new cold case turns up that was in some way connected to the case. The FBI is down here, of course, helping—because this is a serial killer case that has been running for longer than a month it's become a problem of national security—but it doesn't look as though they have leads either.

Yongguk isn't on the case. They've split their taskforce: the more experienced detectives heading the serial killer case, and rookies like Yongguk and Himchan picking up the slack, but being Mr. Zheng's partner means that he has heard some things. The media's taken to calling the killer the Raven because of the bodies' ravaged appearance, but the department has a more specific name for him: _Golod_ , which is Russian for “hunger,” because without fail, every body is missing its stomach.

Yongguk wonders how much Himchan knows.

They sit together silently on the floor, pulling through box after box of cold cases. Every year the department sees thousands of missing persons cases, and of those, a couple hundred remain open. Himchan's been here for a few weeks now, and every day he's been going over a files. In those few weeks, he's gone through one year's stack of missing persons cases and only found four with that particular type of disappearance. Yongguk doesn't hope to find more, but still, they work together, silently. A hundred cases later and he's sure it's far past time to clock out, but he doesn't ask to leave and neither does Himchan. Slowly, the pile of related cases grows, and by midnight, he and Himchan have found ten more files. Prentiss, Smon. August, Henry. Queen, Terrance. Reva, Sulji. Jules, Samuel. Abshiek, Carmen. Zhou, Ester. Yi, Fei. Underwood, Wilfred. Delwood, Ivy. Age and gender are varied, like the first few, but the disappearance method is the same.

“I don't know what this means,” Yongguk admits after combing the files for other similarities and coming up empty. “This is too vague to say we have a case.”

“I know,” Himchan says frustratedly, running a hand backwards through his hair. “But we have something. We definitely have something.”

“Yeah.” Yongguk can't deny that. This is type of disappearance is too skilled, too unique to be showing up so often. Some have to be run-aways, but for some, it was just not possible. Why would a runaway leave their money, their prized possessions, leave wearing clothes decidedly not suitable for running away? Why would they disappear in broad daylight, from the office, from suburb shopping malls, from their locked dorms? “Serial kidnapping?” he wonders aloud.

Himchan shakes his head. “Ransom,” he says. “Why wasn't there a ransom—for any of them.”

“It's not gang activity.”

“No. You know that.”

They sit in silence.

“Maybe we can ask George,” Yongguk says.

Himchan's head snaps up. “Mr. Zheng?” he says.

“Yeah.”

Eyes narrowed, Himchan says, “You think this has to do with the serial killer case that the boss is working on?”

Yongguk shrugs. “I don't know, but we can't rule it out. It's not his m.o. though, and more likely to be a serial kidnapping, but it'll be good to have a senior opinion on it.”

Himchan nods. It's not like they have other options.

Mr. Zheng is still in his office when Yongguk knocks on the door. He looks up and waves them in. “It's Friday, guys, what're you still doing here?”

Yongguk glances at the clock on the wall. “Saturday, actually, George.”

Mr. Zheng flaps his wrist about. “Same deal, same deal.”

“The Golod case?”

Mr. Zheng shakes his head. “I needed a break. There's only so long you can stare at bodies like that and see new things about them. I'm looking into a trespassing case at the med school; shouldn't take too much longer. Mostly just paperwork,” he says, and laughs. “Kinda different from what we used to do, eh?”

Yongguk smiles. Back when he was just a rookie, he and Mr. Zheng had gone out on foot to look for evidence, and although it wasn't anything as dramatic as an action movie shootout, they did run into their fair share of scares. “Get the academy kids to do it,” he advises. “It'll build character.”

This time both Himchan and Mr. Zheng laugh out loud. “You're a piece of work, Yongguk,” Mr. Zheng says. “You should listen to yourself talk sometime.”

“I try not to give into vanity,” Yongguk says, which sends Himchan into another fit of giggles.

“You'll learn to treat him with a grain of salt,” Mr. Zheng advises Himchan, and although Himchan stares for half a second, confused, he eventually nods with a smile.

“I'm learning that,” he says.

Mr. Zheng grins at Himchan, satisfied. “Then you and I will get along just fine,” he declares. He looks back at Yongguk. “Anyway, what are you still here for?”

Yongguk looks over at Himchan, who looks back. Yongguk shrugs. It's Himchan's case.

“From 2011 to 2013, there were fourteen different disappearances with the same “locked-door” pattern. All the victims disappeared under circumstances where they could not have left on their own, and usually in broad daylight or in places with high security. It just seemed kind of strange... sir.”

Mr. Zheng motioned for them to hand the files over, silently spreading them over his own desk. After a few minutes, he said, “Ah. I see what you mean. That is strange.” He tapped one of the files. “I remember this one—we weren't partners yet, Yongguk. At that time I was still assigned to do general house calls, and I remember this one. Shawn Ester. Parents were devastated. It was strange, but what was stranger was that there were virtually no leads. Kids, you know. If they leave, they'll leave something behind. No matter how smart you are, you're not _that_ smart. You'll be smart enough to wipe your hard drive, but the info will still be there. But this kid left nothing. No notes, no footprints. Nothing missing from the room. Would have investigated further, but you know Balashov, and we were understaffed at the time.” He shook his head. “But you know it's not enough to be a case. You'll need direction. This is something you have to keep your eye on. It's not Golod,” he added at the sight of Yongguk's face. “You know what he's like. The FBI profilers say he's not about keeping things secretive like this. Although if these _are_ his...”

They all knew. The body count was much too high to contemplate.

***

Youngjae regrets going on for graduate school only fifty percent of the time. A majority of that fifty percent consists of tests and projects. The rest of it consists of reading and homework. The other fifty percent, well. He _is_ a grad student.

Tonight, the undergrad frat Alpha Sigma Theta's putting on the biggest party of the year—Jungle Fever, they call it. Come trashy, leave trashed. In more ways than one. Youngjae's certainly on board. He's all about living life, going wild while you can, because in a couple years, he'll probably be working at Samsung in a cubicle answering the phone with, “Have you tried turning it on and off again?” What a waste of a PhD. Still, if the occasion calls.

He's gone all-out tonight, decked out in his favorite Sephora and Forever 21. He knows it makes him look positively edible, which is precisely what he wants. He doesn't plan on sleeping in his own room tonight.

He breezes into the party with little more than a backwards glance. The guys at the door don't check his ID, and soon enough, he's shaking his hips on the dance floor with a red solo cup in his hand. He hopes the kids have put something better than cheep beer in it.

Now, Youngjae does not consider himself a natural dancer. Ask him to shake it up on the dance floor and maybe the best he'll be able to do is hop a few times before giving up. But he is a musician, so what he can do is sway forward and backwards to the beat, and it looks alright, if he says so himself. Combined with flashing lights, general darkness, and his patented smirk, he's positively killer, and everyone else knows it too. There are a couple of chicks who've tried coming onto him, but the individual he's interested in is a tall, bored-looking boy standing in the back with two cups in his hands. Wingman, then, and not interested in partying, but loyal to his friends, which is why he's staying at a party in which he had zero interest. Youngjae watches the boy dump his drinks in the trash and sees an opportunity.

Grabbing two cups of punch, he heads over to the boy and holds one up as an offering. “I see you've lost your drinks,” he says.

The boy glares, but takes the cup anyway. “You were watching me,” he says instead.

“I like to watch things that I like,” Youngjae says frankly. “You were watching me too.”

One shoulder jerks up and down. Not a denial.

“Wanna get out of here?” Youngjae says.

A corner of the boy's lips lifts.

***

Mr. Zheng pokes his head into the common room. “Yongguk, Himchan? We've got another disappearance, and this one is like yours. Figured there could be no harm in putting some attention on it.”

Yongguk and Himchan look at each other, and then simultaneously start struggling into their coats.

“We can't let the press get there first—”

“That'll be a mess—”

“Where are my _shoes—”_

“Next to your desk,” Mr. Zheng says helpfully. “If you want, I have extra slippers in my office.”

“Um, no thanks,” Himchan says absently.

Mr. Zheng shrugs. “Ah, well, whenever you two toddlers are ready,” he says, and wanders smiling from the room. “I'll be waiting in the car.”

Himchan pauses in tying his shoelaces to glare up at Yongguk, who is jamming his hat onto his head. “I can see how you two got on so well,” he says sourly.

Yongguk only smiles.

***

They pull up to the quiet apartment with relatively little fanfare.

“It won't take long though,” Yongguk says, looking up at the seventh floor, where their victim's apartment was. “You said he was a student at the college, right? His friends will find out in the next hour, and his roommate already knows.”

“We'll have to be fast,” Himchan says.

Mr. Zheng nods. “Follow me.” He takes them up the elevator, telling them, “I left Hana to get his roommate's statement, so he's still around, if you want to ask him some questions. Kid's kind of shell-shocked though. Evidence left a little while ago, so you can go ahead and look around, but they took anything that could be dusted for prints.”

“We'll be fine,” Yongguk says.

Mr. Zheng knocks on the door to apartment number 734. “I'll get Hana to update you if we find anything.”

Himchan nods.

“Hey, George,” Hana says. “This is them, then?” she says, eyeing Yongguk and Himchan sideways.

“Yeah, these are them,” Mr. Zheng confirms. “I need to go coordinate with the FBI guys, but you can drive them back to the station?”

“Sure,” Hana says. “C'mon in, then.” She nods her head towards the inside of the apartment. “Jongup's waiting for you.”

The apartment is much like an average student apartment—small, crammed to the fullest with small, useless objects that Yongguk remembers at that time seemed so important. There's pizza out on the kitchen island, left over from last night. The microwave door is open, like someone had to leave and forgot to shut it in his hurry, and the dishes are piled too high in the sink. He looks over to Himchan to comment, only to find that his partner has gravitated towards the kid sitting listlessly on the couch in the living room with Hana standing beside him.

“Hey, Jongup?” Hana says, using a tone of voice that's gentler than Yongguk's ever heard from her before, but somehow seems misplaced in the room, like a boulder rolling down a flight of fire escape stairs. “These guys are detectives Kim and Bang, and they're here to talk to you.”

Jongup nods.

Himchan sits next to Jongup and when he sees Yongguk standing awkwardly by the kitchen, jerks his head over. Yongguk obediently sits himself on Jongup's other side.

Himchan turns his attention to the kid and says, “We understand Hana's already taken your statement, but we'd like to ask you some questions, if that's alright with you?”

Jongup shrugs, and then nods. Like it doesn't matter.

“I'll be right outside,” Hana excuses herself. She has her phone out when she leaves, an invitation to call if they need her.

“Is your name Jongup Moon?” Himchan says.

Jongup nods.

“And you live here?”

Jongup shrugs.

Yongguk doesn't know what that means, but Himchan is the one who asks. “What do you mean?” and Yongguk is in awe of the way he doesn't sound judgmental at all, but merely curious.

Jongup doesn't answer for a long time, and Yongguk begins to think that he won't, before Jongup says, “I'm on hiatus. I am... was. Returning to school. Minhyuk... my roommate... he is. Was.”

“Was he paying for rent?” Himchan says.

Jongup nods.

Yongguk is confused. From the sounds of it, Minhyuk, the roommate, was responsible financially for the apartment. Could money problems have caused his disappearance? He makes a mental note to ask for banking records.

“Do you know much about your roommate's financial situation?” Himchan asks, apparently on the same mental track as Yongguk. Yongguk suddenly feels blessed. He could have been stuck with any rookie from the academy, and he's lucky enough to wind up with a smart, determined guy with the added bonus of social skills. It's pretty amazing.

Jongup looks up, but his eyes are still unfocused. “Are you asking me if he could have run away?” he says, and Himchan's eyes widen. “I wish,” Jongup says. “He and his parents had a good relationship, and they weren't struggling money-wise. He's always taken care... of.” Yongguk thinks he knows how Jongup was going to finish that sentence.

“It's okay,” Himchan says. “We're going to find him.”

And that's what marks Himchan as a rookie, Yongguk realizes. Yongguk's learned not to make promises he can't keep.

Jongup nods, but he doesn't seem convinced. He doesn't seem overly concerned, either, which bothers Yongguk somewhat. He knows the kids these days do the tough-guy thing to be socially accepted, but Jongup's body language isn't overly aggressive or restrained. He just doesn't seem worried.

Himchan forges on. “Can you tell us what happened?” he says.

“He came out of his room last night when I was in the living room watching TV and said he had to pick someone up. He came back after a few episodes and said he was going to bed. And then I woke up yesterday morning and he wasn't there. I waited, but he still wasn't. No one knows where he is. So I called the police.”

Sounds straightforward.

“Can we look around?” Yongguk asks.

Jongup turns his eyes on the older detective, staring somewhere far away. “Okay,” he agrees.

“I'll stay here in case you think of something,” Himchan says.

Yongguk wanders around the living room first. In the background, Himchan and Jongup are chatting about some extraneous topic—pizza, it sounds like—and Yongguk tunes them as he examines the general layout of the room. It's stuffed with mismatched bookcases with equally mismatched sets of books—a bunch of classics, and then magazines and manga and popular novels. He wonders who read what. On top of the bookcases are pictures of Jongup and his roommate and a multitude of other unidentified people who are probably mutual friends. The roommate looks like a nice, if unassuming kind of guy. Attractive, with a bit of a baby face. Doesn't seem to have much of a complex. Has friends, does sports, and Yongguk has to check up on his grades, but those are probably slightly above average as well. It looked like there was a girlfriend, but.

“Did he bring his phone back last night?” Yongguk wonders.

Jongup looks over. “Probably,” he says. “I don't know.”

“Can I check his room?” Yongguk asks.

“Okay,” Jongup agrees.

Jongup seems pretty easygoing, Yongguk thinks. Maybe a bit too laid-back. In his experience, roommates whose personalities were different tended to work well together, so Minhyuk was probably much more outgoing than Jongup. There are hardly any pictures of Jongup without Minhyuk in the living room, but Jongup does appear in quite a few of Minhyuk's, so he doesn't seem to be terribly antisocial.

Minhyuk's room is as unassuming as his pictures. There are a couple of sports teams banners hanging from the walls, and his bed spread is standard solid-color make. College student stuff. There's homework still undone on the table—so he was called out pretty suddenly last night, but Minhyuk definitely had to have taken his phone with him—his charger's resting on his table. It was probably charging when he got the call, and being in his view, there's a good chance he took it with him. And brought it back. Yongguk have to find out if evidence got their hands on it. Minhyuk's desk is the sort of desk with a planner right under it, marked fully with anything that needs to be done. Yongguk checks the date. Minhyuk has a test scheduled for the next week, and judging from the work on his desk, it was the same subject. He was studying, which means he intended to take the test.

Yongguk thinks. _Did evidence take a cellphone or a wallet?_ he texts Hana.

There are a few seconds where he assumes she's checking her list before she fires back, _Yes, both_.

Minhyuk definitely didn't intend to leave, then. Yongguk checks the windows. Locked. He wanders back outside to check for house keys. They're in the drawer with a wallet, but instead of just one set of keys, there are two. Minhyuk didn't take his keys, or his wallet, or his phone with him. Unusual.

“Himchan?” Yongguk says. “We need to check a few things at the station.”

“Okay,” Himchan agrees. “But I'm taking Jongup with us.”

It takes a few moments for Yongguk to process Himchan's words.

“What?”

“Bang, he doesn't have a home anymore, and with his roommate missing this apartment is probably going to be leased to someone else. He doesn't have any family left, or anyplace to go. Or a job. And he's just a _kid_ , Yongguk. At least just for a little bit, he's going to stay with me.”

“Um.” Yongguk blinks.

***

Yongguk leans back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. He's just finished combing through all the evidence. He will admit Himchan was right to bring Jongup back, at least, since the kid knew his roommate's password—saved them the effort of trying really hard to guess it and probably breaking the phone in the process. Nothing untoward was on the phone though, nothing to imply that Minhyuk was mixed up in any drug dealing or gang activities or financially in trouble. He had a girlfriend, who was simply distraught—Hana was dealing with her—and the rest of his fraternity was concerned too. This could have been a simple lost-and-found case, but Minhyuk didn't bring his phone, didn't bring cash or ID, and the strangest part was although no one saw him leave the party that night, both Jongup and the security footage saw him return, and neither saw him leave again. They've sent the tape off to see if it's been tampered with, but the place where the tapes are kept was locked up when they went to access them, and they can't find anything wrong with the wires. And windows aren't locked from the outside. He's put tabs on Minhyuk's bank account, but it's unlikely anything will be withdrawn, not without ID or access to his computer or phone.

Missing persons cases like this are always frustrating. No leads, no questions. No leads, no hope to give to the friends and family. Even worse, they had nearly been caught by reporters while leaving the apartment that morning, so who knows what the news will run, even at the risk of emotional trauma to the victim's family. They should at least have the decency to give the friends and family some peace, Yongguk thinks irritably.

He twirls his pen and looks over at Himchan, who's still sitting on a chair and talking to Jongup. _Can Himchan even take care of a kid_? Yongguk wonders. He's young, and given by how he was so determined to stay in the station until the early hours of the morning just trying to find more cases, he's probably unattached. Yongguk hopes he doesn't do this every time they have to investigate a case. That'll be a lesson that's just too hard to learn.

He watches Jongup listen to Himchan talk. Jongup's expression is as tired and dull as it was before, but Yongguk's beginning to think that's simply how he looks. Regardless, there is a trace of sadness in his face that should not be tehre on a child so young.

Yongguk looks back to his file. Twirls his pen. Sits there for a little while, considering, before he jots down, _No leads_ , and shuts the file.

***

Daehyun arrives home late, like he does every night. Working as a barista has its perks, but hell if he knows what they are. Most days dragging himself out of bed is a nightmare in itself. At least he gets to take the leftovers home. He stumbles into his kitchen and ditches his bag of pastries on the counter. He can take care of that in the moring.

Without bothering to turn the lights on, he flops down onto his couch where his cat is waiting for him. It pounces. “Hey, baby,” he smiles at her. “Let's watch some TV before bed, 'kay?”

She purrs, and Daehyun takes that as his cue to flick the TV on. It's just the news, and Daehyun doesn't think he'll find anything better at this time of night. Or monring. Whatever. He sits back and lets the calm voice of the news reporter wash over him.

“...boy disappeared from his apartment last night, and what's worrying is that the police have not yet released a statement. Is this missing boy related to the Raven, who's been stalking our streets at night, or is it just another missing teen who's run away from home? One thing's for sure...”

Daehyun cracks an eye open to see a prim woman reading from her cue cards on his blurry screen, but he isn't listening anymore. Another case linked to the Raven? This city has death on the brain, but problem is, that's one case too many. Someone else is working in this city, and Daehyun doesn't intend on leaving before finding out who.

“C'mon, girl, time for bed.” He coaxes his cat from his lap, and she leaps off and runs off to wherever she's decided to sleep for the night. “Good girl.”

Daehyun needs a good night's rest in preparation for tomorrow. After all, he has work to do.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurk i'm exhausted hahaha just finished my last final today yeaaahhh baby
> 
> i wanted to put this up now even though i'm not very happy with it because a) i'm not going to be anywhere near internet for the next few weeks and b) it probably won't get better the more i stare at it haha
> 
> for now i'll let it be, and i'll come back to it later. in the meantime, enjoy these very unripe fruits~
> 
> (WARNINGS: there is profiling of a serial killer at the very beginning, which is extreeemely reminiscent of criminal minds because that's all i know about profiling, really, and a kiiiind of gruesome description of a corpse??? i don't think its terribly detailed but i do spend a couple sentences on it, so if you don't like that sort of thing, it's at the very end and you can skip that paragraph. otherwise, tally ho!)

Zhou Mi doesn't particularly like serial murder cases. Which is ironic, considering he's in the FBI specifically to deal with such cases, but he still doesn't like them. His teammate Kyuhyun is forever making fun of him for it, but he has a feeling if Kyuhyun knew or cared, he'd make fun of him for liking maple trees over pine trees, so he's not all that concerned. It doesn't change the fact that he just doesn't _like_ them. Not that anyone in their right mind would _like_ a serial murder case, he amends, but people in his line of work typically have built up some kind of resistance, at least, carry a chip on their shoulder, _something_ , some way of thinking to help them sleep better at night. He... hasn't.

So it's really just as well he's in charge of PR, but it's not like that's much easier. Just that morning he had an interview with two detectives who had discovered a string of related disappearances, and just looking at the files of the missing persons made him feel slightly ill. Every single one of them could be another victim of Golod's gruesome work.

“It's not him,” Kyuhyun says decisively over his shoulder.

Zhou Mi startles and looks up. “What?”

“Golod's arrogant,” Kyuhyun says. “He needs to be seen. These disappearances have gone unnoticed for years.”

“He could be saving them for something bigger,” Ryeowook argues from his place across the conference table. “Or he could have evolved.”

Kyuhyun shrugs. “That's true, with the right trigger. But I don't think that's the case. Why haven't any of the missing persons shown up dead? Someone as organized as this wouldn't change his entire m.o. like that so suddenly. I think this is the work of more than one person.”  
“That's rare, too,” Siwon points out. “Two serial crimes, one murder, one kidnapping, possibly murder, in the same city? And all without having interacted?”

Kyuhyun starts to bristle in defense and Hangeng, watching the interaction, hastily interrupts the impending explosion. “Let's back up,” he says. “If we don't consider the new abductions, what do we know?”

“We know it's likely a male, mid twenties to early forties,” Kyuhyun says.

“He displays the bodies at around five month intervals, but tests suggest that the bodies have been dead for at least a few weeks, if not longer. The timing between the deaths and the displays varies, probably depending on the amount of work needed for the preparation of the display. The victimology is extremely varied, and there was never DNA, semen, excessive stabbing, anything that would suggest a personal touch. He doesn't do this for the sexual gratification, but simply because he can. He's methodical, detailed, intelligent, and highly organized,” Siwon says.

“But he's narcissistic and arrogant,” Ryeowook adds, “and the extravagant postmortem arrangement of the bodies is his way of getting everyone to notice.”

Henry pipes up, “But that's not his signature. Each body is arranged differently with a different style, and no apparent messages or patterns in how he's arranging them. His signature is how he takes the stomach, each time. It's like a trophy.”

“And we don't know what he's doing with it.” Hangeng looks at them. “Alright. If we _assume_ it's the same person behind the abductions, what do we know?”

“His intelligence, random victimology, and organization are all the same,” Ryeowook rattles off. “The only thing that's different is that with the abductions, he went out of his way not to let us know—or if we did know, to make it so we'd never connect them and never figure it out. With these more recent murders, he's going out of his way to let us know.”

“That's because it's _two people_ ,” Kyuhyun snaps.

“Or it could be a trigger severe enough to make him want the police to notice him suddenly,” Ryeowook argues back. “It's too rare to find _two s_ erial killers in one city, and rarer with the same victimology and levels of intelligence.”

“Wookie's right.” Hangeng's brow is furrowed in thought. “Statistically speaking, it's much more likely for a serial killer to have some kind of stresser which triggers a change in his m.o than have two operating in the same area with the same victimiolgy and level of organization. But we need to keep Kyuhyun's point in mind,” he adds. “Two serial killers in the same area—if they haven't killed each other yet, it means they're cooperating, or at the very least unaware. And two who are this intelligent working together....” He doesn't finish. Zhou Mi thinks he knows what he was going to say.

Kyuhyun stands up. “We will catch them,” he says, and his hands are shaking. Zhou Mi watches him spin on his heel and march out of the room.

“Kyu!” Henry says, but Siwon shakes his head.

“Let him go,” he advises.

Hangeng calls them back to attention. “For now, we'll assume it's the same individual, which means he's just kidnapped his next victim. We need to look at every one of the missing persons cases; find out where they lived, where they worked, where they disappeared, and cross reference it with the murder victims. Maybe we can find a new geographical pattern, something that we missed before. Mi, we need to write a press release. We know this man is arrogant—if we release a statement that the missing boy is not his, we may throw him off and he'll make a mistake.”

Zhou Mi nods.

He hates this job, but he never forgets—a life is always on the line.

 

Yongguk and Himchan are taken off the case. Yongguk wasn't expecting it, but he can't say he was surprised. With the tension from the Golod case stretching everyone to their limits, and the addition of what looks to be a new serial kidnapping case—small wonder that the FBI would want to see things from all angles.

In the meantime, Yongguk and Himchan are back to patrols and paperwork until further notice. Yongguk can't help but feel a little relieved. The case is in good hands, and he can go back to making a difference in a real, tangible way. Himchan seems a little bored sometimes (if the reappearance of the Cold Cases boxes are any indication), though, and he still hasn't resolved the matter of Jongup, who seems to have taken permanent residence up at Himchan's place.

Yongguk isn't saying he distrusts the kid, but there is no reason to trust him either. Yongguk's already grilled Himchan about leaving files at home and Himchan, in a fairly rare display of anger, had snapped, “I know! Just because I’m not as experienced doesn't mean I’m entirely devoid of common sense, Bang, the way you're devoid of human sympathy!”

The comment had been like a punch from behind, and Yongguk, surprised, hurt, and angry, had been all too willing to leave a steaming Himchan alone for the week. All week they haven't exchanged too many more words besides “Can you pass that file?” and “Goodnight.” Even Zheng had noticed, and he had even left a copious amount of sticky notes on Yongguk's computer, ranging from “You're so miserable it's making my coffee taste soggy” to “Make the fuck up guys.”

But Yongguk still isn't sure. Himchan doesn't seem to be the type to let go of his anger so easily, and Yongguk's weak attempts at possibly starting a conversation are brushed off. By Friday, Yongguk has given up at all attempts of reconciliation and is just packing up his things to go home when—

“Dinner?”

Yongguk swings around. Himchan is standing by his desk and his words are short and caustic and his eyes are narrowed and cold but he's offering an olive branch and Yongguk is _taking_ it.

“Sure,” he says with a feeble attempt at casual.

Himchan's eyes narrow even further. “Jay's Diner, then,” he says. He pauses and Yongguk waits. “Jongup will be coming,” he adds, and, ah, this is why, Yongguk realizes. “Seven thirty.”

“Sure,” Yongguk says again. It's not as though he has much to lose.

Yongguk arrives at a little before seven thirty and waits in his car until just a minute before the agreed time. He wouldn't normally, but... he's nervous. It seems as though Himchan's forgiveness won't be won over so easily, and Yongguk, for his part, isn't prepared to apologize for his concerns. But he does want to be on civil terms again. And, the detective in him says, as he slides out of his car and locks the door behind him, this is a good opportunity to vet the kid to make sure he has no ill intent.

Himchan and Jongup are already waiting in a booth for him. Himchan is joking and laughing and talking, animation lighting up his expressions, and Jongup is smiling and listening, an occasional startled laugh pulled from his throat. Despite his misgivings, Yongguk thinks they make a pretty good pair.

Himchan's expressions die when he sees Yongguk approaching. “Yongguk,” he says.

“Hi, Himchan. Hey, Jongup,” Yongguk says, and then can't think of anything else to say.

Jongup smiles and says, “Hello, Mr. Bang.”

“Er, hi,” Yongguk says again, and immediately wants to hit himself.

A silence stretches over the table.

“Got you a menu,” Himchan eventually says. “Their wings are pretty good, but their quesadilla's their selling point.”

Yongguk blinks. “I'll have one of those, then.”

They order, at which point Himchan says, “I'm going to the bathroom.” which leaves Yongguk and Jongup alone. Yongguk wonders if Himchan planned this.

Yongguk flounders around, looking for a topic of conversation that could dispel the heavy silence that has not left the table since he arrived, but Jongup breaks in and says, “You don't trust me, do you?”

“What?” Yongguk blinks. “No, I—”

“It's okay,” Jongup says, and although his face is slow, his eyes are old and tired. He says, “I wouldn't trust me either. I'm a very suspicious person, aren't I? But it's okay. I can prove myself. I won't cause trouble. But, Mr. Bang, if you don't trust me, please trust Himchan-hyung. He is a very smart hyung, you know.”

Yongguk can't help himself; he smiles. There is something about this kid that immediately demands understanding, some kind of a wisdom that is neither young nor old but is true nevertheless—Yongguk can respect that. He still doesn't trust Jongup, but... now he thinks he can let it be a possibility. So he says, “I know.”

“Good,” Jongup says, and relief colors his voice.

“So, Jongup,” Yongguk says. With the words comes a fresh wind of new possibilities, and he revels in it. He smiles. “What do you like to do for fun?”

Jongup grins now, and his rather blocky, heavy face becomes a thousand times lighter. “Oh! I b-boy—breakdance, but we just call it breaking, or b-boying. It's a form of hip hop—I know the police are all on that these days, but it really is—”

When Himchan returns from the bathroom, he finds Yongguk and Jongup deep in conversation about what real MCing is, and whether or not Ricky Slide should be allowed to perform in parks. He makes a mental note to himself to start buying Yongguk coffee again.

 

Daehyun kind of likes bartending. He has the fun shift tonight—the one towards the end where everyone's sloshed enough to tip generously and impart an atmosphere of crackling tension and energy. It's barely been an hour in and he's already had to break up a couple of near-barfights.

“Ey, bartender, another!” some drunkard calls from the other end of the bar. Daehyun ignores him. If this guy doesn't bother to learn the bartender's name, then he can wait his turn like everyone else.

“Hey, Dae,” a man calls from the chair by the TV. “Refills?” It's Jackson, who's here every weekend but this time is with an assortment of his buddies—some kind of get-together party. They've been ordering nothing but beers and whisky all night so Daehyun preps are few more glasses to take over.

By this point in the night, Jackson is well on his way to getting well and truly hammered, and as Daehyun approaches he slurs to his friends, “Dae, m'man, 's really the _ssssmartest_ guy, _really_. You're wasted, man, _wasted—_ like me!” he laughs at his own joke.

“Sorry, Daehyun,” one of Jackson's friends says. Daehyun can't remember his name—Michael? Markson? He hands the drinks over to Markson.

“It's okay. Jackson's a loyal patron here,” he says, smirking.

Markson smiles. “He gets like this whenever he watches the news,” he says. “Starts thinking about how he could have changed the world if he were Sherlock Holmes and all.”

Daehyun's eyebrows take the lift into his bleached blond hair. “First time I've ever heard of _that_ one.”

“Yes, well.” Markson seems embarrassed. “His father was a detective, so the Raven case is getting to him. I keep telling him that he couldn't solve his way out from under his bed, but he keeps trying.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Markson doesn’t seem to have had enough drink to be entirely wasted, but his tongue is definitely looser. “There was a news thing on it tonight—maybe it's on another channel—”

Daehyun fidgets as Markson flips through the news stations. He has to tend to the bar—the annoying “Ey, bartender” guy is still calling—but he can't resist hearing what the news has to say about the Raven now.

“Ah, here,” Markson finally says, and shifts out of the way so Daehyun can see the reel.

“—and we have every reason to believe that the abduction has _nothing_ to do with the recent murders in Santa Ana,” a tall man at a podium is saying. “There is a possibility this boy is still in the area, so please, if anyone has any information, we would like to ask them to come forward. Our number is—”

“Pretty crazy, huh?” Markson says.

“I could've solved it _weeks_ ago,” Jackson proclaims from his chair, before going back to nursing his beer.

Daehyun shrugs. “It's good the missing kid is possibly alive,” he says.

“Scary, though, isn't it?” Markson says. “There could be a kidnapper _and_ a serial killer in this city?”

Daehyun has to curb his smile. “Maybe,” he says. “But I'm too pretty for anyone to kill, don’t you think?”

Markson laughs, which was the desired effect, and Daehyun returns to his post at the bar, pleased. He even manages to not smash the annoying “Ey bartender” man's face into the bar. He thinks Markson's managed to give him an idea.

 

Youngjae's just browsing, honest, when he hears the sirens go by. He ignores them—they're not an unusual part of the cityscape—but he does feel curious when the sirens don't stop for seven entire minutes. He peeks his head outside the shop and starts heading in the direction of the police cars. It doesn't take long before he sees a crowd, hears shouting and screaming. He quickens his steps. He hopes this is interesting.

He has to push his way through a hoard of men and women who are shouting in his face, but when he reaches the front he's not disappointed. The Raven's broken his several-month-long silence to reveal to them another masterpiece.

This one is less ostentatious, perhaps. The Raven had shifted an entire dumpster into the middle of the street and arranged it so the garbage bags were flowing from its open mouth. In the middle of the bags is a young, college-aged boy, his entire body glossy, as though it had been covered in plastic resin. Youngjae squints to look closer, and then almost starts laughing.

The boy's arms and legs and face have been melted away using a kind of acid, the resin capturing the dripping body parts mid-fall, and as always, the gut is nothing but a gaping hole, empty space where the stomach used to be. The human puddle splashes over the garbage bags obscenely, and Youngjae is reminded of productions of The Wizard of Oz where the Wicked Witch of the West is supposed to melt into water but in reality disappears into a trap door beneath the stage. That part has always disappointed him.

Youngjae covers his mouth and turns to push back through the crowd. Thinking he is sickened and nauseated, they let him go, and he takes off at a run, trying to get as far away from the scene as possible. He only makes it one block, though, before he has to press his forehead against the brick sides of a building and let the laugh that had been bubbling in his stomach slip past his lips. It's funny, really. A message just for him. He didn't think the Raven would be so offended that Youngjae's work had made it to the FBI's ears—angry enough to call him out, even. Youngjae laughs. Whoever this Raven is, he clearly isn't much at doing his research though—Youngjae doesn't like acid, and to attain a melting effect one would have to use extreme heat, not acid or base, which is what Youngjae prefers. Nevertheless, their very own serial killer has called him, Yoo Youngjae out, which means Youngjae needs to respond in kind.

Youngjae shoves himself back from the wall, puts his hands in his pockets. He knows exactly what it is he's going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and of course bonus from last chapter: Scalenecircles, who figured out B-Bomb's identity, and PockyKiss who had a crazy extensive guess list! and jezzberry, who is a dear russian proofreader; the three of ya'll can have whatever you want! or don't want, ahaha, i didn't have anything in mind, but if i can provide, ye shall receive ;)


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